


Hallo Spaceboy

by shiftylinguini



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday Party, Community: hp_nextgen_fest, Costumes, Ducks, First Kiss, Getting Together, HP Next Gen Fest 2018, Humor, M/M, Some Anxious Thinking Patterns, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, bathroom snogging, hangovers, reference to past gender dysphoria, reference to past mild transphobia (not from family members)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 02:39:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16715000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftylinguini/pseuds/shiftylinguini
Summary: “If this mirror could talk,” James remembers declaring, already one drink down and trying to tidy up his ridiculous costume eyeliner, “it would say we look bloody amazing.”Teddy’s arm was warm when he wrapped it around James’s shoulder, pulling him closer.“We always do, love.” Teddy tugged on a long curl of James’s hair before tucking it behind his ear, then smoothing the whole lot of it back. “We’re the fittest blokes at the party, us.”James’d had to give up on the eyeliner after that; he was grinning too hard, flushed and happy and basking in Teddy’s attention (fit blokes, we’re fit blokes, that’s us), and he couldn't bloody stop.Or: James kissed Teddy last night. This may or may not be the end of the world.





	Hallo Spaceboy

**Author's Note:**

> Big, big thanks to my beta and britpicker for being very excellent humans, and to the mods! 
> 
> **Additional notes about content/warnings** : This story contains reference to mild transphobia, but not from James's family members or friends, as well as past instances of some members of public not being so great with handling James coming out. There is also reference to top surgery/scars. If there is something in here you think should also be tagged, please let me know! I'm very open to feedback :)
> 
> There is also an awful lot of tea, as well as a lot of awful tea and more ducks than you might expect. I hope you enjoy :)
> 
> Title from Hallo Spaceboy by David Bowie

**~~~**

The first thing James thinks when he wakes up on the Sunday morning after his twentieth birthday party, is that he is nowhere near as hungover as he expected to be.

The second is that he badly needs a wee. 

He drags himself up into a sitting position with no small amount of grumbling ― there’s no one else in his room to hear it, but it’s not even seven am and James is as much a morning person as he is a squirrel ― and grabs the nearest item of clothing he can reach. Which, he discovers upon giving the top a cursory sniff, is minging. Ew. 

He makes a face and drops the top back onto the floor. He wonders if he can just make a sprint down the hallway to the loo in his pants; normally he would, and has, especially given the only person he lives with is his brother. They’ve copped enough of an eyeful each other’s bits throughout the years that James could probably pick Albus out of a lineup based on his bare arse alone. 

But James also knows that half a dozen people crashed here last night, and while they’re unlikely to be up and lurking near the toilet (some of them only went to sleep a few hours ago, and James doesn’t think any of his mates are secret toilet-lurkers) James would rather not bump into anyone while half naked. He feels pretty good about his body these days all things considered, feels like he’s really _in_ it now, but his pants don’t exactly leave a lot to the imagination. Or they leave too much, maybe. James worries at the corner of his thumbnail with his teeth, pulling a bit too hard. He winces. Whatever. Trackies it is. 

James scratches at his armpit, fingers migrating to the thin, faint scar around his nipple before he notices what he’s doing and pulls his hand away. It’s a weird, almost comforting habit, like poking at the gummy hole where a tooth was with his tongue when he was little, even though this doesn’t hurt at all. It’s all properly healed up, and the scars don’t bother him, if he’s honest. He’d never had much going on in the tit department to begin with, but what he did have was about as welcome as a second arsehole. He’ll ecstatically take some scarring over dealing with that again. There are parts of himself he can’t change, and some that he can, and others he’s not sure he wants to anymore. He’s learning to like all of those parts, together and separately, to like all of his bits and pieces and what they make up. 

James stands then pulls the thin, black hairband from around his wrist, trying to wrangle the wavy mess of his hair up and into what turns out to be the world’s most half-arsed bun. It’s out of his face though, so it’s an improvement. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he drowsily scans the floor of his bedroom. 

Trackies trackies, why is everything he owns filthy? James groans, his bladder screaming at him. Jesus, he needs to do laundry. It’s Albus’s turn though, which means they’re all going to stink until Christmas, or at least until James gives in and just does it anyway. This turn system is flawed. Albus is a rubbish housemate, but the best brother ever. James can’t think of anyone he’d rather live with. 

He pokes at a few more items of clothing, nudging them aside with a toe and wincing at his reflection when he catches it in the mirror. His hair is about as greasy as the bacon he’s desperately craving and there’s still white paint down one half of his face. It’s all caught up in his hairline, too. He knows he gave his face a wash to try and get the facepaint part of his costume off, but it seems to have been a poor attempt judging by this evidence 

Dressing up as Lorcan d’Eath (part-vampire, all sexy crooner) for James’s birthday theme of ‘Iconic Musicians throughout History’ seemed a great idea when he was putting the white makeup _on_. Getting the muck off his face at about 4am, on the other hand, had been an impressive display of James’s lack of coordination when he’s pissed. He’d ended up roping Teddy in to help him. It wasn’t too hard considering Teddy was also wearing half a face of makeup; Teddy had started the night out with a pretty damn good Ziggy Stardust lightning bolt, if James does say so himself. It had gone a bit wonky by the end of the night, though, as had most of everyone’s costumes. 

It was Teddy’s idea that James go as Lorcan (‘ _You’ve got the dark hair, those cheekbones, we just need to make you look a bit gaunt and sweep this curly mop of yours back and you can go about pretending to nibble on people’s necks all night. It’s your dream come true, Jamie!_ ’) so in turn James got to decide that Teddy should dress as Bowie (because Teddy’s got the legs and the height and he’d only have to change the colour of one eye). 

They looked fucking brilliant when they were done getting all kitted up and doing each other’s faces. A pair of glam rock disasters, squeezed in front of James’s poky little mirror in his messy bedroom. 

“If this mirror could talk,” James remembers declaring, already one drink down and trying to tidy up his ridiculous costume eyeliner, “it would say we look bloody amazing.”

Teddy’s arm was warm when he wrapped it around James’s shoulder, pulling him closer. 

“We always do, love.” Teddy tugged on a long curl of James’s hair before tucking it behind his ear, then smoothing the whole lot of it back. “We’re the fittest blokes at the party, us.”

James’d had to give up on the eyeliner after that; he was grinning too hard, flushed and happy and basking in Teddy’s attention ( _fit blokes, we’re fit blokes, that’s us_ ), and he couldn't bloody stop. 

Best bloody birthday ever, James thinks as he looks himself up and down in front of the very same mirror, pictures of Teddy and Albus, Lily and Scorpius and Dominique all smiling and waving back at him from where they’re glued up around the edges. 

He’s doesn’t look _too_ badly hungover, at least (ten points to Gryffindor for switching to fizzy water at the end of the night) but he is pretty wobbly and tired and could eat an entire Hippogriff _and_ its saddle, preferably with brown sauce and a fried egg on top. The bags under his eyes are impressively purple. There’s white paint on his chest too, somehow, above the abs he’s worked hard to get (thank you, Quidditch, and fuck you crunches) and even a bit of shiny crimson smeared around his jawline and all through his stubble. 

James frowns. He wasn’t wearing any red paint last night; the fake blood made him feel squeamish, because he’s a bit of a crap pretend vampire, but he did have real retractable fangs. For a moment he just stares at his jaw, his tired, slow brain trying to remember who’d had red on their face and why James had been rubbing his own up against them. 

Recollection dawns on him with the subtlety of an Erumpent gleefully sitting on a strawberry. 

“Oh, shit,” James mumbles, rubbing over the dark red paint on his jaw. There’s a bruise on his elbow too, or right above, faint and not really sore, which he got from banging his arm into the door knob. The bathroom door knob, at about 4am, while he was washing the mess off his face. 

And getting off with Teddy. 

James isn't prone to getting blackout drunk. Even if he was it isn't that he forgot that he snogged Teddy ( _ohfucckkkk_ ) the night before. It felt more like his mind was so focused on getting clothes on and taking a piss that it was slow to remind him. That he snogged Teddy. And not just a quick kiss. James presses a thumb over his lips, lets it linger at the slightly tender corner of his mouth. Enough of a kiss to end up with stubble rash, it seems. He remembers getting that. 

He remembers kissing Teddy on the cheek first and then licking his cheekbone when Teddy said the red paint should taste like raspberries. It didn’t, but James left his lips there anyway, giggling as he butterfly kissed his way down to Teddy’s mouth and then gave him a smacking, triumphant kiss on the lips. They didn’t taste like raspberries either, more like vodka and lemonade. He remembers Teddy’s face doing something strange, the crease of his confused frown over his wide eyes, so James had kissed that too, and then his nose, until Teddy broke into a laugh. His breath was warm over James’s chin, and James’s grin was big and his heart full when he murmured a sing-song, “ _Hallo, Spaceboy_ ” right against Teddy’s lips. 

He remembers Teddy pulling him close and initiating the next kiss after that. It’s all teeth-clacking kisses and soft laughter, warm hands and cold bathroom tiles against his feet, after that. 

Being stood in front of his bedroom mirror, James is privy to the very weird series of complicated expressions his face goes through as he processes this information. One of the tiny photo versions of James makes a face back at him, then points to something to their left, before going back to whatever they are doing in their garden. 

Above the picture, there’s a bit of folded over parchment tacked-up, James’s name written on it in a familiar, loopy scrawl. James doesn’t remember putting it there, and he doesn't even try. He recognises the handwriting easily, scratched into the small piece of torn off parchment in fading ballpoint pen. It looks like it was running out of ink. James feels a bit like he’s going to fall over. 

‘ _Jam! Sleep tight, love. I’ve gone back to mine. Call me tomorrow? We can chat. Ahhh my fucking pen’s dying, love you, T.’_

The last letters are barely legible, the pale blue ink barely even a grey scratch on the parchment. 

“Oh god,” James mumbles. He folds the parchment up, then unfolds it again, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He can vaguely remember Teddy putting him to bed, but sleepiness must have properly hit him by then. James has no memory of Teddy writing the note; James must have been out before Teddy even left the room. Which he evidently did, considering he’s not still bloody in here.

James’s face does another weird thing ― sort of a grimace, should eyebrows be able to do that, god does he look green or is that just the leftover paint doing that? It’s not a good look. He’d probably have stronger feelings about everything if his bladder didn’t decide to remind that there were _more pressing concerns, thank you_!

Shit shit shit. James quickly grabs a pair of tracksuit bottoms off the back of his desk chair ― they’re grey and old but he’s pretty sure they’re decent ― and legs it out the room and down the hallway, bare feet slapping against the floorboards and goosebumps prickling up his legs and ribs because it is brass fucking monkeys this morning. 

_And he got off with Teddy._

Okay, James reminds himself somewhat frantically, wee first, then panic about Teddy later. Wee first, panic later, wee first ― 

James makes it to the loo just in time, sighing in relief as he sits down, which is great. He really didn’t fancy spending his first day of being twenty having wet himself. It’s probably how he came into the world though. And at least he didn’t run into anyone; after all that faffing around James forgot to put a top on. Having realising that he kissed his best mate has apparently scrambled his brain, although the three hours sleep is probably not helping. And again, it’s not like James _forgot_ he ended night by snogging Teddy for half a fucking hour ― _jesusjesusjesus_ ― while holding a flannel in one hand and Teddy’s platform boots in the other, but it had just...done that thing and slipped to the back of his mind. It was very much at the front again now, as was Teddy’s note, and ohhhh Merlin.

James is feeling even less inclined to sit around and possibly bump into anyone, topless or not. He kind of wants to get out of the house now. Get a bit of air. 

James finishes up, then washes his hands. He quickly does his face as well. He’s feeling too seedy for a cleaning charm, so he does his best to get the remaining paint out of his hair with just water and a bit of soap. His best turns out to not actually be very good, plus he keeps thinking of Teddy every time he runs the flannel over his cheeks. Merlin, is this his fate now, to be getting flustered by flannels? Fucking hell. He gives up, resigning himself to just looking a bit like he’s going grey on one side. He does manage to get most of the red off his jawline. 

He quickly brushes his teeth, for lack of anything better to do, then spins in a circle for no reason other than he is freaking and bursting with weird energy. He dribbles toothpaste foam all down his chin for his trouble, and on his stomach, and the bathroom tiles. Lovely. This is presumably why people don’t spin around while brushing their teeth, he surmises wryly. He wipes his face with the back of his hand then wipes the floor with Albus’s towel, smirking as he hangs it back up where it was. 

The smirk doesn’t last very long. He feels a little bit not great, persistently so. 

James can easily guess Teddy will be at his place now, because he lives next door and he would have just loped off there. Possibly with a few other friends who were too drunk to Apparate home for fear of splinching; nothing ruins a good night like someone leaving their arm on the floor when they leave. At least, James assumes as much, it’s never really happened but his dad has instilled a healthy fear of it in him. James had felt a bit stroppy at first, when Teddy announced he was moving into the place next door to James and Albus. He’d been worried Teddy’d been asked to do it by James’s parents as a way to keep an eye on him. 

Teddy’d almost looked sad at the premise, blinking. “No, it’s not that. I just like being around you. I can find somewhere else though, if I’m smothering you? Just say the word.” That had shut up James up pretty quick. There were two things he did not like in this world: making Teddy look sad, and the idea of him being far away. Well, there were actually loads of things he didn’t like in this world (brussels sprouts, marzipan, those gross trainers with high heels) but upsetting Teddy or accidentally pushing him away were still pretty high up on James’s list. 

He doesn’t like the squirmy, unsure feeling in his tummy this morning at the thought of having buggered up the friendship, either. About what they’re going to chat about. _God, why do you always have to kiss everyone when you’re pissed, why did you have to kiss **Teddy** , he’s your best mate! You don’t even know if he likes you, what if that’s what he needs to say, that he’s not really into you, or boys like you, he kissed you back but what if he was just going along with it_― 

James shuts his head up, closing off the line of thought by imaging he’s slamming a book closed with a little puff of dust. He drops his toothbrush back into the little blue cup by the sink with a little clack. He stretches his fingers out, breathes in deeply. 

He’s gonna go out, is what he’s going to do, and get a bit of fresh air. That’ll help. Fresh air, and a coffee, and then he’ll be thinking clearly again. Less in circles, more in...whatever is the opposite of that. Straight lines. Triangles. Lovely productive rectangles?

James thinks he possibly needs a coffee more than he realised. He creeps back to his room, keen to not wake anyone else up, and pulls on a clean top and a spritz of deodorant. He may be stressing the fuck out, but he’d rather not stink while he does it, thank you. He dithers about getting properly dressed but in the end he decides fuck it, and just grabs a big thick hoodie. He stuffs his feet into a comfy pair of Converse. No one will care this time of morning what he looks like. He studiously ignores the mirror or the offending piece of parchment with Teddy’s note scribbled on it. 

At the last minute, James foregoes a hat, deciding he’s got enough hair to keep his head warm, and heads out the door. His keys and phone jangle against each other in his pocket as James jumps down his front step, his mouth minty fresh and his stomach turning restlessly.

**~~~**

The café is packed, which James weirdly didn’t anticipate.

He should have, though, because there’s only one place open this early on a Sunday and it looks like half of London is aware of that too. 

James lives in Hackney, the Muggle part of East London, in a pretty pricey flat that he’s not ashamed to admit his parents bought for his brother and himself. Okay, he is a little bit ashamed. He doesn’t like feeling like he’s living off his dad’s wealth and fame or the money his mum has earned from being fucking aces at Quidditch. But they insisted, and it’s a nice flat, and James did kind of need it. Coming out was hard, harder than anything he’s ever done, and while a lot of people were good about it a lot of others were...just not. 

And like his dad said, exasperated and sitting next to James on the wooden bench out the back of their house, “What’s the _point_ of having all this money if you won’t let us take care of you when you need it, James? Please. It’s not hiding if you need a bit of a breather, and it’s more than okay to want a bit of space from Diagon and the like, from all those people who think they know you. Fucking wankers.”

“Dad!” 

“Well, they are, ‘scuse my French. Anyway, just please let us do this for you, yeah? Let us buy you a place to do that in. We won’t even check up on you, promise. It’ll be all yours, a nice place of your own.”

James had snuggled under his dad’s arm after that, listening to the early evening crickets chirp and conceding that maybe his parents had a point here. Just this once. 

Albus had just sort of come with the house, as a self-declared part of the package, which neither James nor his parents could be bothered contesting. James got to pick the location, and his parents got to foot all the bills. It meant James only needed to work a few days a week in one of Uncle Nev’s Muggle branch of garden nurseries. Albus is great company, except for never, ever pulling his weight with the sodding laundry. All things told, it’s nice. Comfortable. 

Best of all, in this part of the city the chances of bumping into someone who still thinks of James as Harry Potter’s eldest daughter are minimal. James thinks if he ever met a Djinn like the one his dad saw on a case, hiding in a fancy lamp, then his first wish would be to never, ever hear ‘ _wait, but didn’t the Potters have two girls and only one boy?_ ’ from some nosey stranger ever again. 

James pushes the door to the café open, then almost knocks into a pram because he’s a clumsy dickhead. There’s no baby in it at least, but he still apologises profusely to the lady sitting by it, until she waves him off with a smile. James squeezes past her and into the overcrowded room. He feels a bit comforted by it today. It’s nice to disappear into a crowd sometimes, to be just some bloke with shaggy hair and who needs a shave, nursing a hangover and buying a coffee. These are some of his best moments, he thinks. Being just some bloke in a crowd. 

Once up at the counter, James wrinkles his nose and jiggles his keys in his pocket as he tries to decide what he wants. Coffee, or tea? Coffee is what he came here for, but he prefers tea really. Except buying it seems silly when he could make it at home easily, and it’s not like he wants fancy tea or any of that herbal shit. James squints at the menu up on the back of the wall. He’s not even sure what a _tisane_ is. He reckons he made one for his Potions OWL, but he’s fairly sure this shop is not likely to be selling that kind. He also recalls that the tisane he made in school blew up and turned Kelly Bennet’s hair green for a week, which James’s Potions partner Rashid had found so funny he’d given himself a stitch laughing, so it’s probably for the best James stays away from that. 

“Morning, mate!” 

James startles when he realises the line has moved along and it’s his turn at the counter. There’s a man looking at him with friendly expectation. “What can I get you?” 

“Hiya, Um.” James clears his throat, blinking at the chirpy yet tired-looking guy behind the till, then panic orders something called a London Fog, which appears to be a latte made with tea and vanilla. Somehow. James doesn’t quite understand it, but he’s committed now. He gets a croissant too because he thinks he probably could do with something solid in his stomach, then finds a spot by the coffee machine to wait for his order and quietly hope he hasn’t just chosen something he won’t like. Ah well. If the drink turns his hair green then it’ll just be belated comeuppance for laughing at Kelly’s pond-coloured hair and her snooty, appalled face. He fiddles with the drawstring of his jumper, trying not to smile too much at the memory, but really. She did look hilarious, and she was always rude to James and Rash, so he’s not exactly eaten up with guilt. 

There’s a park across the street from the café, and while it’s freezing this morning there’s enough patchy sun out to make sitting on a bench there pretty tempting. James heads that way, paper-bagged croissant tucked under one arm (and getting a bit squished, whoops) and shoulders hunched to protect his bare neck from the wind. He does regret not wearing a hat and a scarf after all. 

There’s a few empty benches, no one really up and about this early. James sits on one, minding the duck poo which seems to be scattered literally everywhere. There’s a duck nearby too, presumably the propagator of said offending poo. James nods at it as he pulls the croissant bag from under his arm. The duck eyes him eagerly, clearly having pegged him as an easy target. James sighs then breaks off the tip of his pastry, throwing it over. It lands on the ground, where it is promptly ignored. James frowns. 

“Suit yourself,” he grumbles. 

He takes a sip of his drink ― and then immediately wants to spit it out. The tea base is Earl Grey. James hates Earl Grey. He sighs. He’s fucked this right up ― his drink order, his morning, possibly the most important friendship in his life. Any minute now that duck’s probably going to explode. James looks at it mournfully as it continues to turn its metaphorical nose up at the bit of croissant he’s chucked at it. Maybe ducks don’t like pastries. 

Great. So he’s fucked up the duck’s order, too. 

James almost wants to laugh at it all. And then have a really big cry. He pulls his feet up on the seat, wraps his arms around his legs, chin on his knees. He holds the tea between both hands, lets it warm his palms and chilly fingers. He wants to sort out why he’s feeling so churned up, but it’s not really that hard. Everything's right on the surface like it always is with James, trying to get out, no matter how much he’d rather stuff it down. 

He’s terrified of what Teddy means by having a chat, confused about whether he should be feeling hopeful that Teddy kissed him back or preparing to apologise for having done it in the first place, and can’t fathom the prospect of trying to avoid Teddy or the conversation. 

The thing is, it’s not like James has been nursing some huge, burning romantic love for Teddy for the past three or four years, but he has been nursing…a sort of low grade one. James is mostly okay with that, or he’s at least got used to it. To having his regular affection for Teddy sit side by side in his chest next to the low-key desire to kiss him, to nestle under his arm and to know what his bare skin would feel like against James’s. It hasn’t been a pressing need, like it was when it first reared its head, and it hasn’t been making James unhappy. He’s just been living with it. 

Teddy was the first person James told that he might not be a tomboy, exactly, and more just. A boy. He’s the person James goes to with all his secrets, big ones and dumb ones and awful ones. James is proud to know that he’s the keeper of Teddy’s secrets in return. James loves Teddy, and he accepted that he had this other love for Teddy, too. A fierce and greedy love, a scary one, right next to the comforting familiar feeling of knowing Teddy is his best friend and always will be. He really, really didn’t expect he would ever do anything about the first one. 

Drunk, birthday James apparently had other ideas. Even though he’s surprised, even though he feels a bit ill with uncertainty, sober James can’t find it in himself to regret it. It was a good kiss. It was a _lovely_ kiss. James puffs his cheeks out, pushes air from one side to the other. He lets it all go in a huff as he remembers giggling and kissing Teddy’s cheek, his jaw, his lips, how full up on happiness he’d felt as he’d done it, full enough to burst. Teddy’s hands felt nice on his hip, on the back of James’s head, under his hair. Teddy’s got nice hands, nice eyes. He was a really nice kisser. 

James is going to be properly devastated if Teddy says it didn’t mean anything. 

James groans into his knee, then lifts his head. He blinks away the sting in his eyes. _This_ is why he hadn’t kissed Teddy before, why he thought he’d never be silly ( _happyecstatichavingthebestnight_ ) enough to do anything about his dumb feelings. He’s been going okay with friend-love and in-love-love co-existing, but he doesn’t think he can go back to that now. He's not really sure how to go forwards either, what to say to Teddy. What Teddy will want to say to him. 

The duck honks loudly, startling James out of his thoughts and making him spill half his drink onto his leg. 

“Shit!” James wipes at the now damp hem of his joggers. “What, you noisy bugger?”

The duck does another quack-honk of a sound, stepping closer. It looks young, maybe an adolescent. At least, it’s got one of those funny little soft tufts on its head, which James thinks is a thing young ducks have. Downy feathers, like it’s still growing into itself. Or maybe it’s just fancy. 

“Hungry, are you? ‘Cos this is all I’ve got and you don’t like it.” James lobs another piece of croissant over, then pinches a bit off for himself. He stuffs it in his mouth. The duck warily meanders closer, finally looking interested in the sad piece of croissant. James pulls his feet up further under him on the chair, until he’s perched in a weird sort of half-squat. 

“Are you just doing that to make me feel better? Pretending you might eat eat a bit.” James wipes the back of his hand across his cheek, sniffs. “Very kind of you, cheers.” He chews the bit of croissant in his mouth, in a half-hearted, pathetic kind of way. It’s stale and could do with a heating charm, but James is rubbish at those. No wonder the duck isn’t keen. 

“Is that your mate?” James asks as another, sleeker-looking bird joins them. It’s white and plump, a bit majestic looking even. For a duck, that is, which on the scale of things is not really all that majestic. James watches, shivering slightly and wishing he’d worn thicker socks, as the ducks exchange some kind of beaky, clacky greeting. It looks a bit like a kiss. 

James smiles wistfully. He’s fully committing to being pathetic. 

“Ohhh, it’s your _mate_ mate. Get you.” James is making wild assumptions, but he feels okay about it. “Cute. You guys are cute. At least I think you are, dunno what’s actually going on here.” For all James knows this is some kind of duck pre-war gesture. He thinks he vaguely remembers something about ducks having corkscrew willies too, or maybe that was pigs. He thinks Teddy would know, he works with animals. Mostly magical ones, but he’d still probably be in the know about what a duck’s got going on under its little ducky keks. 

James wrinkles his nose at himself, lets his shoulders drop. He huffs a laugh. “Jesus, I’ve actually completely lost it, haven’t I?” 

A man jogs past, looking bright and energetic in his fluro sports gear. He shoots James a confused and wary look. James feels himself tense up, well-learned fear rising up ( _what does he see, what am I doing wrong, am I sitting weird, are my trousers doing something weird, can he tell, can everyone tell?_ ) before it simmers back down again. The guy is giving James a weird look because he’s having a conversation with a pair of waterfowl, not because he’s not passing. It’s actually a little bit funny. 

James wants to text Teddy, he’d get a laugh out of this. If Teddy was up, and if things were normal, James would’ve already sent him a picture of the ducks, and of James’s poor beverage selection. If things were normal. Which maybe they are. James groans again. 

The ducks, bored of James’s moping and his stale offerings, have wandered off. 

“Oh, get in, ducks,” he mutters softly. He’s decided the ducks are a couple, and he’s happy for them; James is projecting a bit this morning, and he can’t be arsed fighting it. He wants the weird tufty duck and the fancy fat duck to swim off, living in happy mismatched duck matrimony or however it is they do their thing. Vive le duck love. James is rooting for them. 

He slumps down a little further on the bench, lets his head drop against the wooden back of it.  
Happy ducks in love, and neurotic James on a bench. His hangover has finally arrived, he thinks; he’s getting a headache, and he’s thirsty, and he wants to go back to sleep. He wants to go over to Teddy’s and crawl into bed with him, warm under the covers. He probably could, and then they could avoid talking for a few hours while they slept. They’d still have to talk eventually. 

On the plus side, at least they won't be having _that_ conversation. That ( _fuckingawkwardanxietyriddenpotentiallydevastating_ ) conversation. The one that goes “I might not be what you’re expecting when you get my kit off” and so far has never ended in the apocalypse, but that doesn’t mean it feels any lighter inside James. The two people he’s properly liked enough to go that far with have been good about it, great about it, which was a fucking relief and a half because James likes sex, and he liked them and he really wanted to have it with them. There’s only so much making out while keeping your lower half angled half a metre away and not letting them get a hand under your shirt you can do before people start to ask questions. 

James wishes there was a way to tell people that didn’t involve, like, talking. Maybe he could write it down and pass them a note, or do it via interpretative dance. He knows this is his issue, that he’s fine with doing things but will fucking avoid talking about hard stuff like the words are trying to kill him, heavy poison pebbles in his mouth and stuck under his tongue. 

His therapist would tell him it’s okay to cover everything with humour, that it’s his way of detaching himself from it, avoiding it. That it’s okay to feel uncomfortable with these things and he’s brave for doing it anyway. Of course, the one time she actually did say that to him, James just made a joke about it, so. He’s still working on that. He’d still rather say things via a joke than do it with a straight face and potentially feel it get thrown back at him. Or worse, a soft “I like you a lot but I’m just not into that.” That’s only happened once, right after school, but it was enough. 

He knows Teddy wouldn't say that. Not like that anyway; he’d let James down gently, soft as feathers. But that’s about all James knows. One snog in a bathroom does not a happy ending make, and Jesus Bloody Christ, _it was one snog in a bathroom_ , why is James sat in the cold at 8 am on a Sunday preparing to move to France to avoid having to talk to Teddy about it? James has kissed load of people in his time, he loves kissing people, especially after a few drinks, and he is not prone to agonising over it so fucking much. He’s so far out of his depth here.

He’s just gonna sit here in the park, until his arse freezes to the bench. That’ll solve all his problems. Maybe in years to come they can make a monument to him. _Here sat James, forever, too afraid to actually do anything about having kissed someone he liked, someone who probably liked James too considering they kissed him back for nearly an hour, but we’ll never know will we? Because James never asked. What a fucking pilchard._

“Right, bugger thist.” 

James quickly sits up, digging his phone out of his pocket with one hand and trying not to spill his cold, awful drink with the other. He thumbs in his pin and then brings up Teddy’s number before he can think himself out of it. 

Less think, just do. Gryffindor courage, and all that. 

He presses the phone to his ear, wincing at the cold against his cheek. He sighs in relief when the ringtone starts up. James has a habit of breaking his Muggle electronics, usually by keeping them in the same pocket as his wand, where the magic ends up accidentally frying the insides. They’re not built to withstand that kind of thing, and James still hasn’t really go the hang of them, though he’d learned that using Muggle tech has it’s advantages when it comes to keeping in touch with Muggle friends and blending into the Muggle world he’s occupying at the moment. 

James starts to bite nervously at a thumbnail as he waits for Teddy to answer. 

“‘lo?” 

Teddy’s voice is thick with sleep yet clear and loud. James blinks in surprise; he always forgets how much better his phone reception is the further he gets from his house, from the constant interference from the collective magic of the house’s wards and concealment charms. 

“Hey. Hi.” James clears his throat. “It’s James.” 

“Mmhmm.” James thinks he can hear the rustle of sheets. “Hiya, love. What time s’it?” Teddy sounds more than half asleep, voice deep and rumbley. James’s throat feels dry. His heart is hammering in his chest. 

“Early, really early. Did I wake you?” he asks, already knowing the answer. 

“No,” Teddy lies, with a soft chuckle. “Well, yeah. But I wanted going to get up early anyway.”

“Oh?”

“Mm, had big plans.” Teddy sounds marginally more awake. And not remotely upset with James, or like he’s riddled with ‘ _oops I kissed you_ ’ regrets. He might just not have remembered yet. James doesn’t want to get his hopes up.

“Did you?” James asks, stalling for time but also genuinely curious 

“Yeah.” Teddy drags the word out. “See, there’s this kid who had a birthday last night, and I thought I’d make him breakfast this morning.” 

“Oh?” James’s voice comes out tiny. 

“Yeah, like a big fry up, sausages and bacon, and whatsit. Black pudding.”

“I hate black pudding,” James mumbles, head spinning slightly. Teddy chuckles, the sound of blankets rustling as they’re pulled up. He sounds so normal. Happy. 

“I know.” Teddy laughs again, ending in a yawn. “Jesus, it’s like, twenty past 8 Jamie, why are you ― Wait what was that?” 

“Oh.” James shifts against the seat. “Um, there’s some noisy ducks here.”

“Ducks? What, in your house?”

“No, ‘course not.” James’s laugh sounds slightly hysterical, but not in a bad way. 

“Jamie, where are you?” Teddy asks. He sounds more awake, his voice clearer like he’s properly sitting up now. There’s a reedy note of concern creeping into it. James keeps biting at his fingernail. He’s going to bite the whole thing off at this rate. 

“Um. I’m like, in a park? The one across from Arnaud’s.”

“That’s, you mean Arnaud’s as in the café with the,” there’s a rustling that sounds like Teddy sitting up, “the café with all them pot plants and the shit tea?”

James snorts a laugh. “Yeah. Tisanes, or whatever.” 

“Load of wank. So, wait, hang on, Jamie. Why are you there, did you meet someone? Why are you in a park, you should be asleep still.”

“No, no one else here. Just me and...” James looks over his shoulder, jiggling his leg. “Me and some ducks.” James tries not to hear how utterly pathetic that sounds. 

There’s a pause before Teddy replies. Not quite long enough to be properly awkward, but just long enough that James knows Teddy’s joined the dots, that the penny’s dropped. Teddy knows James and how his brain works pretty well. 

“Okay. Okay, you’re in the park.” Teddy clears his throat. “And is everything...are you okay?”

“Um.” Here it is, oh fuck, talking. James’s leg is jiggling enough to make the whole bench shake a bit. “Yeah. I am, like. I was just. Like, I woke up really early, fuck knows why, actually I just needed the loo, but.” James cuts himself off, makes a face. “Anyway, I was up and then I saw your note? Like the one stuck on the mirror ―”

“What note?” 

James blinks, wondering if he’s managed to make this entire thing up, some kind of hangover fever dream. A really shit one. “The one that...that said we should talk?” 

“Wha ―” Teddy breathes out loudly. “Oh, shit. I did say that, didn’t I.” He sounds slightly poleaxed, as if the events of the previous night are dancing to the same aggressive rhythm they’d used to Samba into James’s memory too. “Fuck.” 

“Yeah. And then I freaked out a bit, ‘cos I definitely remember what happened last night, and like.” James’s palms are sweating so much, he’s worried he’s going to drop his phone. “Like, you said about having a chat, and I wasn’t sure what that meant, with all the, um. Stuff.” James can’t bring himself to say kissing. “Like, if it was. Like a chat about. I don’t know.” He trails off, still biting at his thumbnail. “Good chat, bad chat.” 

“Oh, god, Jamie. No, I didn’t.” Teddy puffs his breath out, moves the phone away from his mouth and then closer again. “Not a bad chat, definitely not, it was just. You were just asleep, love.” Teddy’s voice is so soft. “You fell asleep so quick, I didn't get a chance to say goodbye. I didn’t. I thought if you woke up and I was just gone you might worry, about, ‘cos of what happened, so I left a note. A stupid note, like, I was a bit drunk and crashing and the fucking pen was running out of ink.”

“You mentioned that, actually,” James says, a bit mechanically. He’s not sure if he should be feeling relieved, or still worried. He’s still stuck in emotional limbo. 

“Did I?” Teddy laughs, and it sounds a little choked. “God, I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m so sorry, like, fuck.” Teddy laughs again, thickly. “I’m surprised the note was even legible, given I was sort of falling asleep as I was stood writing it.”

“Oh.” James licks his lips. “So it’s not. It’s not, like, bad talking?”

“No, not bad talking. Definitely not.” 

“Oh. Okay.” James sets his hand on his knee, tries to stop it from bloody jiggling like it’s trying to break off of his hip and make a go of it on it’s own. “Okay then.” 

“Okay. Okay, so, how about.” Teddy clears his throat, but his voice sounds clear and steady, much steadier than it had just moment before. “Why don’t you come over here, yeah? Come over for a bit.” 

James nods, as if Teddy could see it, then breathes out, “Yeah.” As soon as he’s said it he realises how much he really wants to do that. It feels like a pang in his chest, how badly he wants to see Teddy combined with how relieved he feels that there is no pending, apocalyptic, friendship ending chats to be had. James could probably slide off the bench and just sob there happily for a bit, the feeling of the anxiety lifting is that palpable, and that fucking good. “Yeah, I’ll come over.” James’s voice sounds strangled. The sun is in his eyes and he’s starting to squint, and there’s a wobbly smile creeping over his face. 

“Are you okay?”

James laughs. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good. I’m okay. I’m like...” _I’m feeling a hundred things I don’t want to say out loud, and none of them are as bad as I thought they would be_ , James finishes in his head. Teddy sounds like he hears it anyway. “So can I come over right now? 

“Of course, yeah. Was hoping you would. I’ll get the kettle on.”

“Okay.” James swallows. “I'll come straight round, be there in like. I dunno, fifteen? Don't go anywhere.” 

Teddy laughs, and it sounds a bit delayed around the edges, a bit worn. It's still a laugh though, and James'll take it. “Where would I go, Jamie?” 

“Dunno.” James shrugs, bouncing his knee. It’s in excitement now, though, rather than nerves. “To my house? Then I'd be at yours and you’d be at mine, and we'd switch and keep missing each other. It could go on for hours. 

“I think that's a Benny Hill sketch you're thinking of.” 

“Ha!” James stands quickly, tries to stomp the cold out of his feet. “Yeah, reckon you're right. Still though. Don't do that. Just wait there.”

“Okay, love. I'll be here.”

“And I'm coming over,” James repeats, determined. 

“Perfect,” Teddy says, his voice small but sincere as anything. James makes his feet move before he can chicken out, replaying the soft timbre in Teddy's voice, the warmth it stirs in his belly, as he walks.

**~~~**

James Potter, human icicle.

At least that's how he feels by the time he gets to Teddy's front door. The walk wasn’t long, but his fingers feel like they’re turning blue (they’re not) and his shoulders are hunched so high they’re practically embedded in his ears (also an exaggeration). Whatever, it’s fucking windy. He’s also stupidly brought along the London Fog with him, out of a combination of not wanting to litter and not wanting to waste something he paid for. Even though it was awful. 

He stops once he’s reached Teddy’s door, fiddles with his hair for a bit and then tucks it behind his ear. There’s no way he can stop it from being a state, and he knows he’s just stalling now. The tight and swirling feeling in his stomach is from excitement and anticipation now, rather than worry, but James is still feeling a little emotionally wonky. And pretty hungover, as well. He could do with a nap and a cuddle. 

He knocks, then fidgets for the minute or so it takes Teddy to open his door. 

James’s breath doesn’t catch when he sees Teddy standing in front of him, barefoot and sleepy and wearing a grey vest with a hole on the side, just below his ribs, and an incredibly faded Snitch design. His trackies in contrast look in relatively good knick. They’re black fleece and rucked up on one side, halfway up his calf. There’s a pillow crease on one of his cheeks. His hair, somehow, looks even messier than James’s. Teddy’s always had bedhead that could rival even James’s dad, like he goes to bed a normal young man and wakes up with an actual turquoise bird’s nest on his head. He looks a bit of a bleary mess, and completely and utterly lovely. 

James’s breath doesn’t catch when he sees him, but it comes very fucking close. 

“Morning,” Teddy mumbles, his voice deep and rough, the way it is when he’s just woken up. James feels wobbly in ways which have nothing to do with being hungover, and everything to do with just being... ecstatically smitten. 

“Hiya,” James trills. He thinks he’s being borderline obnoxiously loud. He can already feel that he’s smiling again. “This drink is gross,” James says, holding it out for Teddy and wondering why of all the things he could have said, his brain decided to open with that. 

Teddy blinks at James, face scrunched into a kind of squinty confusion. “Um. You want me to put it in the bin for you?

James shrugs. “Unless you want it?” he offers. 

“Didn’t you just say it was gross?” Teddy rubs one eye sleepily. He probably stayed in bed for a bit after being on the phone with James. He looks nice, sleepy and warm. His hair is sticking up on one side, like he had a shower last night then went to sleep with it still wet, and James wants to stick his hands in it, and then his face, and breathe in deeply. 

James smiles, feeling that familiar surge of affection for Teddy squeezing up inside his chest. It doesn’t feel so scary when he’s faced with Teddy, he finds, the friend-love and other kind of love all jumbling inside him and fizzing gently. None of it feels bad. None of this is remotely as scary as it seems in James’s head, not now he’s actually stood in front of Teddy, and not sat in a park, worrying and getting so far ahead of himself that he can't tell his arse from his elbow. 

The knowledge that the only thing that will really bugger up their friendship is James not talking to Teddy, pushing him away, settles over him like a leaf on water, rippling with the possibility that James could have what he wants here. Like, really have it. He could have Teddy, as something new, and keep him as his best friend at the same time. He bites his lip, stomach still churning but in a different way now. 

Teddy’s looking at him like he's gone a bit mad. He might be right. 

“Yeah, really gross.” James has broken out into a wobbly, lopsided grin. “S’got Earl Grey in it.” 

Teddy frowns. “You hate Earl Grey.” He’s still looking bleary, in his holey vest and baggy joggers, and all of James wants to kiss him again, and again, and then again. 

James hiccups a giddy laugh. “Yeah.” 

“Get in here then, I’ll make you something decent.” Teddy turns around, waving one lazy wrist for James to follow him as he heads towards to kitchen. James sets his tea on Teddy’s telephone table by the door, next to his keys and a small potted fern which has seen better days. Teddy gets two steps away before James is on him, arms around his middle and hugging him from behind. 

Teddy stumbles a little, then makes a little surprised sound, almost a laugh. “What’s this?”

“Just hugging you,” James says into the back of Teddy’s neck, eyes shut. “Keep walking, don’t mind me.” 

Teddy does laugh this time. “Alright. Left leg first, let’s try and walk.”

They stumble down the hallway like a listing eight-limbed abomination, James grinning stupidly into the back of Teddy’s neck the whole way. 

“Hello,” he mumbles again, once they’re in the kitchen and stood in front of the kettle. Teddy turns a little, resting his cheek against the top of James’s messy head. 

“Hello, love.” He scritches his nails gently over James’s skin. “You good back there?” 

“Yeah.” James lets his breath out in a rush. “We kissed last night.” 

Teddy inhales, as if he’s catching James’s air and all the tension James let out with it. “Yeah. We did,” he says quietly. 

“I've been freaking out a bit.” 

Teddy nods. “Cos of the note?”

“Mm. Not just that, though.” 

“Yeah?” Teddy runs his fingers over James’ arm hair. “Want to tell me why?” 

“Probably should.” 

James can feel Teddy’s jaw work as he swallows. His fingers are still gently running over James’s arm. “Want to...keep hiding back there while you do, or go and sit on the sofa or something?” 

“Um.” James inhales, deeply. Teddy smells like shampoo and a little bit of cologne lingering around his neck, and even a little bit sour with sleep. It's weirdly calming. “Sort of wanna keep hiding.” James tightens his arms around Teddy's waist. 

“Okay.” Teddy squeezes back, breathes in deeply. He waits for James to talk. He's so bloody good at that. 

Which is convenient as it looks like they'll be here all afternoon, because James doesn't really know what to say. It's been running around his head all morning, non stop, but now he's tasked with saying it out loud he's lost his words. Something about bad ideas, and James will drive Teddy nuts, and how he looks weird naked ( _no, you look fine, just different, Jesus stop making excuses, you're just standing here holding him like a neurotic limpet, say something!_ ) 

The clock above Teddy's stove ticks obnoxiously. A bird lands on the window outside, then chirps. James glares at it, silently wondering if he should just Apparate out of the room and back onto the front doorstep. Then he can just knock and try this whole thing again, only with more actual words. 

“Would it. Um.” Teddy runs his hands over James forearms again, and they're a little unsteady. He sounds quiet, uncertain. Comforting. “Would it help if, like, I said stuff first?” 

James lets his breath out in a rush. “God, yes please.” He sags against Teddy, cheek smushed into his shoulder blade. “You talk, I cling,” he says into the cotton of Teddy's vest, squeezing him as tight as he can without causing any real damage. He feels Teddy laugh softly. 

“Anaconda arms,” he says, and James nods, wanting to sink into Teddy and avoid everything, forever. Except Teddy. He never wants to avoid him again, even if this all ends with “ _I was drunk, whoops, the snogging was an accident, it's amazing the things you do when you're dressed as David Bowie, it must've been the shoes!_ ”. Even if that, James'll still want to be a limpet clinging to Teddy's side. It's the best, safest place. James doesn't know how to not want that. 

He’s got a feeling that Teddy feels something similar. He hopes he does. 

“Okay. Well. I really, really like you, Jamie,” Teddy says. “I really liked kissing you.” He rubs his cheek over the top of James’s head. James thinks his hands might be shaking. Teddy sighs, and then smooths his palms over James’s foreams. James straightens up, just enough to peek at Teddy over the top of his shoulder, stomach tense as he’s braced for Teddy to add more. He doesn’t. 

“Oh.” James swallows. He’s doing that wobbly smile again. 

“Yeah.” Teddy huffs a laugh, then rubs his palm, fingers splayed, over one slightly flushed cheek. “Pretty simple. Just fancy you, like. That's it.”

“Oh,” James says again, monosyllabic in his surprise. He stand up even straighter, thinks Teddy’s hand feels a bit shaky where it’s curled around his forearm. James shuffles, lifting Teddy’s arm just enough to slip under it. He leaves his other arm curled around Teddy’s waist, meets his eyes and sees Teddy watching him with his head cocked to the side, that smile still on his face and a familiar, light frown creasing his brows. 

“Same,” James whispers, and kisses Teddy on the cheek, then higher

James’s strengths have always been in doing, in action, when he’s out of his head and the quicksand that sometimes lurks in there. He kisses down Teddy’s cheek, grinning with it and smiling even harder as he feels the vibrations of Teddy’s light laughter. James rests his temple against Teddy’s. He blinks, then imagines he can feel his eyelashes rustle against the soft skin of Teddy’s cheek. 

“Same,” James says again, then sighs. “I just fancy you too.” Teddy kisses him first, this time. 

It’s a backwards mimicry of the evening before, drunken giddiness replaced with sober honesty. Teddy’s lips are soft, and James’s heart feels about ten times too big for his chest, something fluttery and huge kicking off inside him. Teddy cups his cheek, the back of his neck, as he rests his other hand on James’s hip and James shuffles as close as he can, until they’re pressed together just about every place they can be. They kiss slowly, Teddy’s thumb rubbing a circle over the dip above James’s hip and James’s fingers curled around his elbows, running up to his arms and then slipping back around his waist. There’s no rush to it, but it feels like a lot, more than many other kisses have ever felt for James, and he rests his hands on the small of Teddy’s back, pulls Teddy’s lower lip between his own and feels Teddy sigh. James drops his head onto Teddy’s shoulder, not sure if he wants to climb Teddy or burst into happy tears or stand on the roof and ecstatically scream. He feels like it’s too much emotion to have inside him all at once, and he feels like he never wants it to stop. 

Teddy sighs again, arm curled around James’s back. He kisses the top of his head, then smooths his hand over his hair. “Hey.” Teddy kisses his temple this time. “Sorry for leaving a dumb note and freaking you out.”

James hums into Teddy’s shoulder. “Wasn’t dumb.”

“It was. I think the words _‘let’s have a chat ’_ sound far less intimidating when you say them out loud, half-pissed and falling asleep standing. Written down, they sound like, I dunno. Something your teacher would say when you’re about to get a shit grade.” 

James snorts. He’s been there before, many times. “Guess so, yeah. I think I just got myself bit worried. Um, like, about all of it. Got a bit ahead of myself.” It seems oddly distant now, but there’s still a bit of unsteadiness thrumming in James’s veins from a morning spending worrying himself into a dizzy spiral. He really wants a nap, like a good four hour lie-down, and then to get back to his day’s plans of eating a proper breakfast the size of Quidditch pitch. He feels like he deserves it. 

He looks up at Teddy, then straightens. “Why’re you smiling like that?” he asks, smiling himself. 

“Like what?” Teddy replies, smiling even wider. 

“Like that, you’re just looking at the wall, smiling.” 

Teddy shrugs, casual and cheeky. “Oh, I dunno. Think the fit bloke in my kitchen might be why.” Teddy brushes his nose against James’s, then his lips over his mouth. He’s still smiling, eyes crinkling sweetly in the corners and dimples carved into his cheeks. “Says he fancies me,” he stage whispers against James’s mouth, as if he’s telling him a secret. James can feel himself blushing. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Kind of definitely fancy him, a lot. It’s nice to be able to tell him.” Teddy kisses James again. James feels hot on his cheeks and ears. He clears his throat. 

“Sounds like he might be a catch then.” James’s voice cracks a little at the end. 

“Yep.” Teddy’s grinning now, beaming, and still whispering against James’s mouth. “Definitely a catch.” His grin slips sideways. “Tell you a secret about him, though? If you promise to keep it.” 

James hums, nods. They’re so close they’re almost speaking into each other’s mouths. Teddy’s started rocking from them softly side to side, a gentle slow dance that hardly feels like moving at all. 

“He worries,” Teddy tempers the admission with a kiss. “This boy I fancy. He thinks a lot, sometimes even too much. Gets ahead of himself.”

“Oh.” James swallows. “Does he?” 

“Yeah.” Teddy nods, another brush of his nose against James’s. His hands warm and steady on the small of James’s back. “I think.” Teddy bites his lip. “Well, it’s not for me to say, but I think he’s had a lot to worry about in his life.” Teddy’s still whispering, voice soft like they’re sharing a secret. James hangs on to each word, fingers winding around the thin edges of Teddy’s vest. “More than a lot of people do. More than most people might be aware of.”

“Has he,” James croaks, voice thick. He sniffs, blinks away the heat from his eyes then drops his head onto Teddy’s shoulder. It’s a bit bony, not the best pillow. James never wants to move again. “Sounds a bit shit,” he mutters. 

Teddy nods. “Think some of it might’ve been shit for him, yeah.” He’s still rocking them, like a weird hug waltz. It’s making James sleepy, and warm, like he could just curl up and have a weepy, relieved sleep right in Teddy’s arms, in the middle of the kitchen. 

“He sounds like a lot of work,” James mumbles. “This boy.” 

“Nah.” Teddy shakes his head. “Not even a bit. He’s not hard work at all.”

“No?”

“Nope.” Teddy shuffles him a little closer, chin resting in his hair. “Easiest boy to love in all of England.”

James doesn’t reply. He’s not sure if he can, or if the words will just get caught in his throat on the way up, try and jumble their way out. He grips Teddy tighter instead, breathes him, lets himself be warm and held. Long moments pass and James doesn’t think about anything at all, except the quiet thump of Teddy’s pulse under his ear, the warmth of his skin against James’s knuckles and the slow steadying of James’s own heartbeat. 

“Might be a bit of a weirdo,”James mumbles thickly into Teddy’s shoulder. “This guy you’re into.” 

“Best weirdo.” Teddy kisses his temple again, smooths his hair off his forehead. “Best, lovely weirdo.” Teddy pulls back to see James's expression, his knuckles brushing against James’s temple. “Hey, let’s go lie down, yeah?” 

“Mmm.” James tilts his head down, laughing quietly. His eyes feels heavy with sleep, Teddy’s fingers warm and soothing in his hair. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

**~~~**

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the 2018 HP Next Gen Fest. 
> 
> comments and feedback are very very welcome. I am on [tumblr ](https://shiftylinguini.tumblr.com/) here xox


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